


The Great Council

by LizaGreen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon is a Blackfyre, Ghost is best direwolf, Great Council, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms, Madness, R Plus L Equals J, Response to Season 8, Rhaella Targaryen Lives, Robb Lives, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, What even is it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 21:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18837259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizaGreen/pseuds/LizaGreen
Summary: In the year 300 AC, a Great Council is called to decide between Cersei Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, the supposed Aegon VI Targaryen and a mysterious fourth. Robb, having married Daenerys to save his people is forced to go.But who will become the new King or Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? And are any of them worthy of it?OrA reason, D&D, why people don't just snap one day.





	The Great Council

**Author's Note:**

> I may have written this as somewhat of a response to episode 5 of Game of Thrones. This is written mostly from a book viewpoint, but I include the TV show, because we all deserve better than what we got.

Robb shifted uneasily in his seat. Beside him, Daenerys was eyeing all the others with sharp eyes, her grip on her throne so hard it had turned her knuckles white. He was silently grateful the dragons were too large to fit even into Harrenhal’s hall of a Thousand Hearths. He’d hate to see what her precious children would be doing to the competition. What they had _already_ done to some poor unfortunates who had been a little too slow to bow.

After her arrival and discovery of him in the depths of the Twins, there had been contention for the Iron Throne. The riots in King’s Landing had killed Tommen, Myrcella had been maimed to near death by the Martells, leaving only Cersei Lannister, barely hanging onto sanity by the tips of her fingers and cursing all for the murder of her children. The Lion Queen sat in the most modest gown Robb had ever seen her in, glaring at all those around her, in a group to their right. They had set out the hall in a sort of square, so that none sat above the other in this Great Council. The other leaders had yet to arrive, one party to even there at all.

To the left was Jon Connington and the largest man Robb had ever seen. Daenerys had been grinding her teeth ever since she had set eyes on him. Apparently, he was some cheesemonger from Pentos by the name of Illyrio Mopatis, a man who had taken her and her brother in for a year or so. And then allowed Viserys to sell her to the Dothraki. Robb supposed even he would have an axe to grind if he had discovered the man who had claimed to be an ally was truly hiding his allegiance elsewhere. That, he could understand.

Opposite, was empty. The final group from the North had yet to arrive. At first, Robb had thought it to be Stannis Baratheon. But then the man had staggered into the castle, a ragged band of barely loyal men behind him, face grim. He had yet to declare loyalty to anyone but had been granted a potential seat on the gathering council. Stannis had refused. That left Robb wondering exactly _who_ would be claiming that final seat. He wasn’t the only one.

“How _dare_ this imposter keep me waiting,” Daenerys hissed under her breath. Robb didn’t know if it was aimed at him or Ser Barristan, but he did what any loyal husband would do. He took one of her hands in his, to give a reassuring squeeze. Daenerys ripped it back as soon as no one was looking.

“I don’t know why,” Robb sighed, flexing his hand. Sometime holding Daenerys was like trying to hold a wild animal, confused as to how exactly you were trying to help it. “They are coming from the North and it is Winter. Perhaps they have been held up by the snows.” It _had_ been snowing, even this far south. He could only imagine what the North looked like. Daenerys huffed, but turned away to sneer at Connington and Mopatis. Ser Barristan gripped his shoulder briefly.

“Do not mind the Queen. She is surrounded on all sides by enemies and mummers,” the old knight tried to reassure him, quiet enough that his wife would not hear. Robb didn’t answer. He knew enough by now, that it wasn’t just enemies that had Daenerys on edge. In Essos, she had been hailed as the Dragon Queen, as Mysa to all the lost and broken slaves. Almost wherever she went, she had been worshipped. Here, she was a foreigner, an invading queen who was continuing war where it had already ripped through decimated villages and towns. The smallfolk were far from grateful for her rule- instead they gave her frightened and suspicious looks, bowing only so they would live to feed their families in the rapidly freezing weather. She hadn’t even brought food to appease them, instead taking it with the promise to give it back. How, Robb didn’t know. Winter was here, the kingdom was destitute, and Daenerys had no money that was her own.

And who knew how long Winter would last.

There was a creak from the doors at the end of the hall and the small man employed to announce all arrivals suddenly stood straighter. It had been near an hour since they had themselves sat. Cold air blew in from outside and Robb appreciated the breeze as much as he could. It had become stiflingly warm in the hall, with all the hearths lit and so many people crammed inside. Soon to be more. There were only three seats set out opposite, but who knew how many retainers or guards this person would bring with them? The man shook out the roll of parchment, glancing down it for the names not yet called out and cleared his throat.

“Welcoming to this Great Council, is the Prince Aemon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his second wife, Princess Lyanna, his wife Val of the Free Folk and his grandmother, the Dowager Queen Rhaella Targaryen!” Robb almost choked on his drink. _Second wife Lyanna? As in my aunt Lyanna? And Rhaella is dead! She died…_ His thoughts trailed off as he caught sight of the small group entering through the doors, finally in sight. The woman to the right was most certainly old enough to Daenerys’ mother, grey hair streaked through with silver and pinned back in a decorative style. Her dress was simple, black adorned with small designs picked out in red thread, looking almost like falling leaves. The woman to the left was almost the opposite. Young, blonde and dressed in furs, her dress plain brown roughspun, hair left to fall loose down her back except for two braids at the top of her head. She glanced about the hall with feigned interest, looking bored.

But it was the figure in the centre who caught his attention. Because it didn’t matter that someone had tamed his curls with two small braids to keep them back, or that he was dressed in plain finery that traced out small dragons at his collar in silver and a thick cape of furs. Because he _knew_ that face, no matter that it was older, that he was taller and filled out some. That there were new scars adorning it. He would know Jon’s face anywhere.

He almost jumped out of his seat. It was only Barristan’s hand gripping his shoulder stopping him, a subtle shake showing that the man, too, had been thrown off. It occurred to him that Ser Barristan had never seen his brother. Jon had been banned from going south, their father never mentioning even the idea of him perhaps joining the Kingsguard. Robb had suggested it once and Father had shot him down. “There is no place for Jon in the South,” Eddard Stark had said, leaning over the fireplace in his solar. Robb could see it now, could see it with a new clarity that had him leaning back as several things clicked together in his head. He couldn’t count the number of times his parents had argued over Jon. He knew Mother had once suggested fostering him, stating that her Uncle Brynden had agreed to allow the boy to squire for him. Father had gotten mad and half the castle knew they had argued by how loudly he had shouted. He remembered, vaguely, rumours flying around the castle as to who Jon’s mother was, how important she must have been to Lord Stark for him to never let the boy out of his sight. _Important and dangerous_ Robb now thought, swallowing heavily. His Father’s poor resistance to Jon joining the Night’s Watch made a horrible amount of sense now. _A place where you swear away any claims to titles you might have had. A place Father thought he would be safe._ Except, by the hard and cold look on Jon’s face, as if it had been carved out of ice, it had been far from safe.

_A Wildling wife. And I thought my choices were poor._

It took him an extra moment or two to notice the knights with them. Four to be exact plus one large white shape that formed itself into Ghost. As Jon led Rhaella Targaryen to a seat, the direwolf settled himself between the central chair and Rhaella’s. He didn’t miss the way the woman avoided Daenerys’ gaze and her white-knuckled grip in Ghost’s fur. Two of the knight’s settled behind Jon’s chair, a man with blonde hair and dark indigo eyes, a sword so pale it could only be Dawn, marking this man as the legendary Arthur Dayne and Sword of the Morning. The second was a young boy, only a year or so older than himself, with the silvery blonde hair and purple eyes of a Valyrian, armour black as night contrasting with his white cloak. A third knight Robb assumed must be either Oswell Whent or Gerold Hightower settled by the Wilding woman’s chair and, most surprising of all, Jaime Lannister, complete with golden hand and hard green eyes looking straight ahead and avoiding his sister’s gaze, stood behind Rhaella. Robb caught a hint of a smile from Cersei before it slipped, when she failed to gain her brother’s attention.

It was Connington who broke the silence.

“Aegon?” the man said, standing from him chair. The boy in the white cloak stiffened, swallowing. “What are you doing? Your claim-“

“Aegon Blackfyre has sworn himself to Prince Aemon and his family,” Arthur Dayne cut him off. “To redeem the Blackfyre line and prevent any _more_ false claims in this Great Council.” Robb noted Varys’ odd twitch, Mopatis’ expression morphing briefly into annoyance.

“Then you seem to be backing the wrong side,” Cersei sniffed, but there was a slight smile on her face. _She thinks she has won._ It made Robb shiver to think so.

“Do you think I do not know my own grandson?” Rhaella asked, her tone derisive as she eyed her opponent. Robb frowned slightly, watching her body language. _She relaxed. She relaxed speaking to Cersei Lannister but cannot bear to look at her own daughter._ That did not bode well. Cersei raised an eyebrow, expression sanguine disbelief.

“Well, you _have_ just neatly removed one piece from this meeting.” This time she did smile and that seemed to be the final straw for Daenerys.

“It seems to me you are all pretenders,” she hissed, leaning forwards slightly. Robb grabbed her arm, forcing her to stay in her seat, hearing the distant roars of dragons. Cersei paled slightly to hear them too, while Jon seemingly gave no reaction. His expression made no change, simply stroking one hand down Ghost’s side as the direwolf bared teeth in a silent snarl, the only indication that he _might_ be feeling something under the icy exterior. “I have the only _true_ claim to the Iron Throne. How _dare_ you bring impersonators into my presence, especially that of my _mother_!” She leaned back once she was finished, satisfied. Rhaella had closed her eyes, hand gripping Ghost’s fur ever tighter. Jon’s hand moved to grip her wrist and a moment later, Rhaella had taken it instead, almost hidden behind the wolf’s bulk. To anyone else, it would look like they were both holding the direwolf back. Barristan shifted uneasily behind him but stayed silent. _He can’t tell her she’s wrong in front of the others. Everyone else in this room is old enough to know her, recognised her the moment she walked in the room._ He hadn’t missed Cersei’s surprised shift, expression quickly covered up or Varys’ wide eyes. Even Connington had stared, no longer arguing, instead slumped and pale.

“Pretenders,” Rhaella breathed, eyes closed, expression pained. “I have not heard that since…” She trailed off, looking ever bowed by old age. Jon shifted then, straightening but keeping a grip with Rhaella.

“I am aware of what you all think of me.” His voice had deepened, as hard as ice, giving nothing away. “It does not matter to you what evidence I bring forward of my inheritance, of my Uncle’s innocence in the murder of Elia Martell and her children or his attempts to save _your_ life in King’s Landing,” Robb noticed Barristan wince as his brother spoke directly to Daenerys, “we will all be Usurpers to you. So, I will say this, and only this. All of this is nothing more than a farce between children. Our true enemy is out there while we waste our time arguing over whose claim wins over whose. Choose one leader or another. I have my own war to win.” Silence fell at the end of Jon’s speech, dark eyes drilling into them all. Except for Robb. Jon’s eyes skipped over him, turning instead to eye Doran Martell’s quietly furious face behind Connington and Cersei’s openly hostile expression. Daenerys was practically vibrating in anger next to him.

“A farce?” For a moment she sounded less like a woman as one of her dragons. “You, who claim to be the son of my brother and the wolf whore, pretend to be a prince when you, yourself, are a Usurper.” Robb flinched, anger pooling in his stomach. _Say nothing,_ he reminded himself. _Say nothing and your people are safe. Say nothing, and no one else will end up like Roslin, or Uncle Edmure._ It _hurt_ so much though, to hold back while his own wife insulted his family, ignoring near twenty years of facts for her own fantasy of how and why the Rebellion occurred. “I warn you to stay out of this Council and I may yet let you live when you bend the knee.” Rhaella’s eyes were closed, a single tear falling from her eyes.

“Your Grace,” Barristan said softly, voice cracked. “Please. Spare your mother.” It was quiet enough that no one else could hear but Daenerys swung to stare at him, face pale with fury.

“ _My mother is dead,”_ she snapped. Barristan merely looked at her, face grave. She quivered then and Robb attempted to take her hand once again. She had to see that they needed to look united. Even if Cersei, or even _Jon_ , won out, they at least needed to show that they respected the choices of the Lords of Westeros.

“What evidence have you, of your birth?” Doran Martell asked, speaking up for the first time. Dayne raised an eyebrow.

“Is mine and Ser Whent’s presence not enough? Or Her Grace’s familial claim?” he asked dryly. Martell opened his mouth to answer but Dayne cut him off. “If you must know, we have the documentation of the wedding, a witness in the form of the midwife, Wylla, who worked for many years for House Dayne as well as the documentation of the birth of Aemon Targaryen. Lord Stark hid them along with his sister’s and goodbrother’s ashes, in their grave, so that they would be kept safe, along with his nephew.”

“A nephew he claimed as a bastard,” Martell stated slowly. “It seems we have wronged Ned Stark all these years. He was far more cunning than we believed, to hide the heir so.”

“Not cunning,” Rhaella rasped, as if her throat were dry. “Loyal. To his family and to those who were wronged. Dorne may think Eddard Stark reveled in the deaths of Elia and her children, but you mistake him for Robert. They did not speak for many years. Lord Reed will be happy to corroborate that, should you so wish.” She sent him a sharp look. Doran Martell nodded, face grave, recalculating. It was clear to him the board had changed rapidly within this room.

“Your Grace,” Ser Barristan said, loud enough to be heard by the room this time. “If I may? All reports said you had died in childbirth. How…?”

“I let her go,” Stannis Baratheon rumbled. Robb, along with half the hall jumped, not realising he had entered. The man had withdrawn his own claim and stayed away until this very moment. “My brother wished all Targaryens dead and when Howland Reed offered a way to make that true, I turned the other way. After all, she was on death’s door. How was I supposed to know the crannogman would save her life?” Cersei scowled heavily.

“Then you were a traitor from the start!” she hissed eyes narrowed. “How you can give credence to any Targaryen claim is clear. But you forget, they were defeated-“

“You forget, exactly _how_ Robert claimed the throne,” Stannis snapped back, brittle as iron. He was not handsome like Renly, or fat like Robert. He was tall and strong and unbreakable as steel. But he was immovable in his ideals, more liable to break than bend. “Or did you conveniently forget, as my brother did, that his claim came through our grandmother? Rhaelle Targaryen? There was a reason, neither Ned Stark nor your own brother took the throne and it had nothing to do with grabbing for power. They had no right or claim to it. Just as you have none, save your marriage. And that leaves you further down the line of claimants than even Maester Aemon.”

“Maester Aemon is dead.” Jon’s voice cut through any looming argument. “The Night’s Watch has seen to his burial.” Stannis inclined his head in acknowledgement as the castle maester set to scribbling that information down.

“Do you have the evidence with you?” the maester, a man by the name of Morgan, squeaked. Whent pulled a sheaf of papers from the satchel hidden at his side, watching all the while as the man perused through them. A moment later he handed them back. “They are legitimate documents,” he agreed. _Legitimate. So that means…_ Jon was looking solidly ahead of him, staring at nothing and meeting no one’s gaze. Robb dearly wished to catch his eye, to silently assure him that this changed nothing. So what, if he were technically his cousin, rather than his brother? They had grown up as brothers, and that is what they would always be. And perhaps… _It will never work. She wants the throne too much. She’ll never let him live if they choose a male heir over her._

“Perhaps, if we were to start with the reasons why each claimant, should be king or queen?” Varys asked delicately into the heavy atmosphere. Daenerys gave a jerky nod, lips pressed together. Jon inclined his head ever so slightly, the turn of his mouth telling Robb that he had little desire to be here. His wife was the only one looking amused, as if this were merely a play acting out in front of her eyes. She caught his brother’s eye, rolling her eyes and Jon’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile as she whispered something to him. Cersei took this as her moment to stand.

“Of course. It is obvious to all, that we are the only true choice. The Foreigner Queen has already shown what kind of _justice_ she will bring to the people of Westeros,” she stated, sending a sneer Daenerys’ way and Robb cringed, trying not to think of the ruin that was now Riverrun, “and the only other choice is a once bastard with no idea how to rule. Meanwhile, we have been sheltering all within the walls of King’s Landing, feeding the people and taking responsibility of the debt the Targaryens and my husband led the kingdom into. House Lannister has already begun to take steps to pay back the Iron Bank and is ready to defend the kingdom from foreign invaders, traitorous rebels or wilding barbarians from beyond the Wall.” Jon’s wife raised an eyebrow at that comment, murmuring something else that almost made her husband smile. Rhaella just sent her a flat look, her disagreement with Cersei’s little speech written all over her face. As the Lion Queen sat, Daenerys rose, having dropped Robb’s hand once again.

“You may listen to the Usurper’s wife, or you may follow _me_. I may not have lived in Westeros all my life, but I promise to bring the peace and justice the Lannisters have so denied you. I have freed cities from slavery, brought to heel the khalasars of the Dothraki to fight as one underneath me and destroyed the Masters of Slaver’s Bay. The Unsullied follow me in loyalty, not bondage, and you may ask each and every one of them what I did to those who tried to take them back. Cersei Lannister can give you only false promises and this boy who claims to be my nephew has done naught to help in the War of the Five Kings. While my husband’s men lay dying and betrayed, he sat at the Wall and did _nothing_. Will you follow a coward or a queen?” Jon’s face was once again blank, but Ghost was bristling in anger. If he were able, Robb had no doubt the direwolf would be growling. His wife no longer looked amused.

“If you would, Your Grace?” the maester coughed as the silence stretched on, Jon not moving. Rhaella looked torn between anger and sadness as she quietly let go of her grandson’s hand. Jon rose slowly, looking over each and every person in the room, eyes settling briefly on Robb last. He sent his brother a reassuring nod, hoping the message got through. Jon had taken his vows, had been a man of the Night’s Watch while he fought a losing war. Staying at the Wall had _not_ been cowardice and all but Daenerys knew that. His brother nodded back, taking a deep breath.

“I have said what I came to say. Choose who you wish. I agreed to come for the promise of a stable realm and to gain an agreement for aid to the north. The people are starving since the Ironborn and Boltons stripped the land of any grain. The Night’s Watch has had to take a loan from the Iron Bank to pay for food from Essos in order not to become a burden to the Northmen. The Free Folk brought their own supplies with them, but they dwindle every day. All I ask, is that much from whoever takes the throne.” He sat again but his wife then stood, frowning.

“My apologies, but my husband is too modest for his own good,” she stated clearly, her northern accent thicker than even Jon’s. “I know what you southerners think of my people. We do not kneel. We have no king, except those we choose. And even then, only in times of dire need. Mance Rayder gathered us together because he _saw_ the danger we faced, as did King Crow. He allowed us past the Wall, so our children were safe from the Walkers, our way of life preserved. We gave our aid to the Night’s Watch, to defend your kingdom in his honour from the true threat, because none of _you southerners_ would heed the call. Give him the name coward- he gave his life so we would be safe and won our loyalty for it. He left the Watch to stabilise the North your Lion Queen let be destroyed under a mad bastard of this Lord Bolton and gave justice to those who followed him. Your _husband_ lost the North and King Crow won it back, without dragons or threats of death. Those who lived but refused to surrender went to defend the Wall, to join the Night’s Watch that you oh so willingly ignored. It is not he who is a coward: it is those who refuse the call to defend your very own lives.” With those words she sat, defying all aghast looks. Jon’s face was blank but there was a slight pink tinge to his ears. _Did he really do all that? But why… why would he not mention it? And what did she mean ‘gave his life’? What…_

“And you expect us to believe a savage wildwoman?” Cersei scoffed. The maester made a move to pacify her but was ignored. “All I see is a Night’s Watch deserter.”

“I released Jon from his vows,” Robb stated, only loud enough so the room could hear. He shifted as the room turned to look at him. “During the War of the Five Kings. I suppose neither the will nor the letter made it to the Wall, courtesy of the Lannisters and Roose Bolton.” Daenerys looked almost triumphant until Jon shook his head.

“It did not. Maege Mormant and her allies were forced to hide with Lord Reed after the events of the Red Wedding. She was happy to hear you lived.” Finally, his brother was looking at him. Robb gave a grateful smile- so not all his bannermen were disappointed in him.

“It makes no difference,” Daenerys snapped. “It is madness, all this talk of walkers or threats beyond the Wall. The _wildlings_ are the threat beyond the Wall-“

“Madness?” Rhaella’s voice was quiet and sad. Daenerys cut herself off, blinking at her mother’s tone of voice. “Do you even know true madness?” The Dowager Queen looked around the room, sad yet fierce. “I know it. I have lived to see all but my grandson succumb to it.” Daenerys flinched, frowning, as did Ser Barristan.

“Your Grace, forgive me but Rhaegar was not mad,” he disagreed solemnly. Rhaella gave him a sad smile.

“No, not like Aerys. Nor poor Viserys of what I heard of him. My poor little boy,” she half whispered, stroking Ghost’s pelt sadly. “He always looked up to his father. To have such responsibility thrust upon his head… I ought never have done it.” She paused a moment, rallying. “But, yes, Rhaegar was mad. Quietly, in a way you would never have noticed. He would have been a good ruler, despite his… obsessions. Lyanna and Elia would have kept him in check. They were such strong women.” This was said with a smile and a shake of her head. “But Robert ruined it all. And you, daughter…” For the first time, Rhaella looked at her daughter and Robb _felt_ Daenerys recoil, surprised as she grabbed his hand for some form of comfort. “You are your father’s daughter. Aerys was always paranoid. Ever since the tragedy of Summerhall and we lost little Daeron, his paranoia only grew. Tywin Lannister may have been a power-hungry lion, Aerys thought all were out to displease him. Even me. Even Rhaegar. At the end, he saw threats from everywhere, convinced any who tried to touch him were making an attempt on his life. It was no lie, that he burned Rickard Stark alive or had Brandon Stark strangle himself to death.” Her voice was steady, but Robb saw the way she shook. _She’s afraid. Frightened of her own daughter._ He had heard about Viserys- of the Targaryen madness that had gripped her brother as they fell further into poverty. _And how much of that, has Daenerys seen in herself?_ His wife was not one of introspection.

Apparently, Rhaella was.

“I… Father wasn’t… It was…” Daenerys had no words, her world stripped away from under her. Where before there had been a raging dragon, now sat a trembling girl clinging to a man she had married for the power. _She’s lucky it was me and not some other lord. They might have…_ Well, they would have done what the Westerlings did to him and Jeyne. Played the ally until the moment they could thrust a knife in her back. _She calls my father the Usurper’s Dog but relied on the knowledge that Starks hold to their honour to keep me in check. And she did that without thinking what that showed about herself_. He could see the same knowledge in Jon’s eyes as he regarded her with a certain sad expression. “Rhaegar was the Last Dragon,” she finally managed to get out.

“Perhaps not the last, but certainly as mad. He was obsessed with prophecy and knowledge. Had he been left alone it would have driven him to destruction. I did what I could, Elia tried more but it was Lyanna who grounded him. The North has little need for flowery words and prophecies. She chose to go with him for her own reasons, with the knowledge he was using her for his own ends but still. When we met for the last time, he was more in the moment that I had ever known him.” Rhaella gave a soft smile. “He was speaking of the here and now, not some vague moment in the future.” It made Robb wonder how strong this woman was, to have watched her family drive themselves to devastation in the many different ways a man could go mad. That she would have to watch it just one more time. _Or not,_ he thought as she glanced towards him. _If Aunt Lyanna could bank the madness in Rhaegar, perhaps I can give a chance to Daenerys._

That didn’t matter too much right now. It appeared the Lords had made up their minds.

“If we would pass our votes now?” the maester asked querulously. The surrounding Lords went away, the entire group to the left disappearing with them. Some in anger, others considering and, in the case of Jon Connington, in desperation. The candidate he had been ready to support had withdrawn, taken no part except to back another. That he had spent the past seventeen years raising the wrong child must have been a dark blow. One could see it in the slump of his shoulders.

“It’s lies,” Daenerys muttered, gripping his hand tighter. Robb thought she must be unaware of it. “It… it _has_ to be.”

“Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows what Aerys did,” Robb murmured, gently stroking her hand with his thumb. Daenerys may have lived half her life in poverty, but there were no callouses that spoke of hard work. Her hands had only ever been hardened by the reins of a horse, or riding Drogon. She had never held a sword, never been taught how to fight or how to lead. She had seemed to think it was something you were born with, not something you learned. “I’m sorry.” She stiffened, throwing him a dark look mixed with desperation. He knew right now she needed to be told she was right… But that had got them nowhere. No one had ever told her she was wrong, not even Ser Barristan. Jorah Mormont had done nothing but fuel her hatred, glory in her ruthlessness but now he was banished. She had exiled him from her life but not his influence.

There was a soft snuffle, and suddenly a white muzzle plopped itself over their hands. Ghost snuffled again, giving a silent _whuff_ of air, red eyes staring at them solemnly. Daenersy leaned back but Robb ruffled a hand over the direwolf’s head. It was so odd- Ghost had been the smallest, the runt of the litter, when they had been found. Now he was the largest, the only one Robb knew of to grow to adulthood. Would Grey Wind have been this big, had he survived? Lord Frey hadn’t deigned to release the direwolf though. Instead he had been beheaded and then the head stitched to some unfortunate’s body, paraded as himself through the courtyard.

“Ghost,” his brother’s voice stated from somewhere away from them. “Heel.” The wolf gave their joined hands a single lick before padding away, back to his owner and Rhaella. He sent Jon a smile as he watched Ghost go, feeling a little better. Daenerys, too, watched the wolf go, face solemn.

“You had a direwolf once?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” Robb said, as Jon patted the wolf absently, talking with his own wife, the wildling woman Val. “His name was Grey Wind. Walder Frey had him killed.” There was still a hole in his heart where the wolf had been. Where that sense of _other_ had been, where he would sometimes dream on all fours, the taste of blood in his mouth. Daenerys squeezed his hand back.

“And they have paid for that. In blood,” she insisted and Robb sighed, pulling away himself this time.

“Yes, he did. But so did my Uncle and cousin at Riverrun. So did all the innocents in those castles.” Daenerys’ face dropped, something almost like shock rippling across her face.

“They were your enemies!” she snapped.

“Not my baby cousin!” he snapped back, the anger breaking free for once. People had compared him to his father since his internment at the Twins, where before they had called him Brandon Stark come again. He found himself thinking he preferred being another Quiet Wolf than a Wild Wolf. “Not the servants or children who had nowhere else to go! They’re all dead now, as dead as those _I_ got killed! That isn’t what we call justice in Westeros. That was simply more butchery.” He turned away, unable to look at her. She was still so young sometimes, only sixteen and thinking she knew all. He had thought he knew all, back then. He knew better now.

He heard her turn away to watch the rest of her family. He watched Ser Barristan, who’s eyes seemed glued to Jon, analysing him for every similarity to Rhaegar.

“Is… is that why he won’t look at me?” Daenerys suddenly asked in a small voice. Robb blinked, glancing towards Jon, engrossed in something or other with Val and his grandmother. It appeared to be a rather intense conversation. He looked towards his own wife, sat stiff and vulnerable, lost at sea and not knowing what to do now. Cersei had stalked out, seemingly aware she had lost, and no doubt to gather her own forces.

“Jon?” Robb asked, slightly startled. Why did she suddenly care about Jon? Only a few minuets earlier she had called him a pretender.

“Aemon,” she stated firmly. Robb rolled his eyes.

“He’s been my brother my whole life. I’m not going to start calling him Aemon,” he shot back, just as firmly. She frowned, but at least she was considering now, rather than simply reacting. “And, perhaps. Jon’s always been more honourable than me.” _Smarter than me too. He just never tried because of Mother._ Jon never spoke of the time she ripped up his sums paper, because he had gotten better marks than Robb. Just as he never spoke of the berating, he had gotten for beating him with swords, or having a firmer seat in the saddle. Robb might be better with the lance and battle strategy, but what good was that when playing politics? If he ever gambled, he would put his money on Jon being the better leader.

After all, a _wildling_ had spoken up for him. He couldn’t imagine Osha doing the same for him.

Daenerys was quiet a while as they waited. She turned to him slowly, biting her lip. “I… might have been hasty,” she acquiesced. “I thought returning to Westeros would be as my brother described it. The deeds I did overseas… it made conquering seem so easy. But the people there were broken under the Masters, whereas here some follow the lords loyally. Like…” _Like Meereen_ she didn’t say, but he heard it anyway. “Should Aemon win… Viserys was the only family I ever knew, but Ser Barristan has told me good things about Rhaegar. I… don’t want to be alone.” It was the most honest she had ever been with him.

“Jon’s pretty forgiving,” Robb assured her, pretending not to see the vulnerability. “If you try, he’ll let you in.” _You’re more similar than you think. You protect yourselves because you know the world’s out to get you. Rhaella might be right, that you turned to paranoia, but it doesn’t have to be that way forever._ Robb gripped her hand firmly, holding on to that thought. Daenerys had been on a precipice, walking a knife’s edge between madness and justice. Occasionally, she fell off. But she _tried_. It seemed that was more than Aerys had ever done.

When it was announced that the new King would be Aemon, First of his name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Robb wasn’t sure who was more surprised. Himself, or Jon. What he was sure of, was Daenerys’ tremulous smile as they approached the new king and Jon’s returning one, as he took her hand and granted her the North, as independent as Dorne and that they would rule as Prince and Princess over it.

After all, there would always need to be a Stark in Winterfell.

**Author's Note:**

> I have tried my best to write a realistic interpretation of these characters, and hope I haven't butchered poor George RR Martin's characters as the TV show has. Yes, I thought Daenerys would go mad, but you can't just pay lip service to it for six seasons, mildly imply it in the seventh and then halfway through decide to go full on madness in the eighth and final season. You have to build up to it. Honestly, I've seen fanfictions on here written better than this season. Many, in fact, probably most. You know, that work with logic.
> 
> Anyhow, I wanted to use this as a brief moment to contemplate on the Targaryen's and what their 'madness' entails. Aerys, is obvious, but less so when he first took the throne. Read through a World of Ice and Fire- this man had problems with paranoia way before the Defiance of Duskendale and his full nose-dive into madness. Viserys lost it after selling all their valuables, culminating in their mother's crown. Something Daenerys comments on in the books when describing how kind of a person he used to be to her. And yes, Rhaegar. You don't just one day decide you have to become a warrior after reading a book, especially not if you have no interest in it. This is all seen in Daenerys, who is slowly becoming more paranoid of betrayal in the books, her final chapters culminating in her vowing to defeat her enemies in 'fire and blood' after her dismal attempts at ruling Meereen (and yes, they are dismal. She causes an all out Civil War between herself and the Masters, leaves Astapor and Yunkai in the hands of weak characters, which are immediately overturned the moment she turns her back on them and re-instates slavery. Just because she burns them, doesn't mean the problem goes away. Politics doesn't work that way.). That's not to say she's completely surrendered to it- after all, her actual desire is to return to the life of her childhood, with the house with the red door and family that loved her, as Viserys once did.
> 
> I hope I conveyed that well enough in this story.
> 
> Having Rhaella and Robb live is somewhat interesting. Rhaella has lived to see all of her children destroy themselves after her own abuse at the hands of her husband (being forced to sleep with septas after miscarrying that many times, being blamed for all of them too? Yikes. That is one strong woman to carry on) and it would be interesting to see what her opinion on Daenerys and Jon would be. As for Robb... well, he's entered a political marriage in the hopes to spare others from Daenerys' ruthlessness. He understands that just because someone says person A is a good person, doesn't mean they are actually better than person B. Or in this case, Cersei. And that's an interesting point of view to write from.
> 
> Hopefully, you all enjoyed this! It's a standalone story, so I won't be writing anymore but if anyone wants to take this and run with it, you are very welcome to!
> 
> (Also side-note- anyone feel like Daenerys' snap in the show was shoe-horned in at the end because that's the way she's going in the books? That's what it felt like to me at the very least.)


End file.
